


A Scissor Runner Stole My Heart (So Give Your Heart A  Break)

by TheWrongKindOfPC



Category: Bandom, Demi Lovato (Musician), Disney RPF, The Like
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-28
Updated: 2013-01-28
Packaged: 2017-11-27 07:26:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/659392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWrongKindOfPC/pseuds/TheWrongKindOfPC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Demi Lovato seems as sweet as apple pie, and Tennessee Thomas is at a party with people she hasn't spoken to in months for a reason. There might be star-gazing involved, but that is debatable. A story about meeting people in different ways at different times, and weird ways of fitting together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Scissor Runner Stole My Heart (So Give Your Heart A  Break)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kiki-eng (kiki_eng)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiki_eng/gifts).



> Contains brief allusions to Demi's time in rehab. Huge thanks to la_dissonance for the beta.

It's almost fitting, Tennessee thinks, that she meets Demi at a party she's only at because she's trying to make things right with Z. It had already been gnawing at her, the strangeness of being out of touch, the knowledge that Z must be calling someone else, these days, when she wakes up in the middle of the night and has to reassure herself that the world hasn't disappeared while she was sleeping. Tennessee has spent too many nights cradling her phone to her ear and drowsing through late-night reruns of America's Next Top Model, Z's low, husky laugh in her ear, to imagine her insomnia has just gone away on its own.

So she's been thinking this, she's been missing Z, in an odd, prickling way, tinged with annoyance and frustration, but still, missing her, so when Z calls her up to ask her to come along to some party at Ryan's house, Tennessee agrees. She knows an olive branch when she sees one, and then sometimes even when she doesn't — she can make an olive branch where there is none, when there's something weak and wilting instead, a willow branch, or something. Z doesn't need to mean for this to be the thing that gets their friendship back on track. Tennessee can mean it enough for the both of them.

Besides, she and Ryan were friends, after a fashion, for a while. Friends through Z, and friends who got along the best on nights when they had champagne, but friends none the less. Tennessee is on a path to enlightenment and emotional fulfillment, and that includes reuniting herself with people she has lost in certain schisms. Still, she resolves to drag Zooey along with her. If things get awkward, Zooey can bust out her ukulele and charm and amaze the ravenous masses. She's good like that.

In any case, it's almost appropriate, but probably also a little awful, that she meets Demi at a party she's only at because she's trying to get to be friends again with her ex.

-

Demi sees Tennessee for the first time a few weeks after she gets out of rehab. She's feeling pretty great, wild and wonderful and keeping her head down, sneaking off with Miley to some little show in Santa Barbara, to see some band she has never heard of. She thinks for months afterwards that that is probably why Tennessee sticks in her mind so much, not because she was gorgeous up there, hair flying everywhere, pounding away at the drums with this weird, serene smile on her face — just because everything felt so hopeful that night.

Jenny and Johnny are bright and fun, and a bit weirder than Demi usually likes her music, but great, exactly what she wants to be hearing. Her eyes keep getting drawn to Tennessee, though, who they introduce near the end. She taps out a quick drum roll in salute and Demi laughs.

The show is Miley's idea, because Miley has decided that they need to go on an adventure together. She's been calling Demi her hero since she went into rehab, and it's weird, and most days it doesn't feel very true, but it's always clear that Miley means it, and it always makes something warm burn deep in Demi's chest. Things have been a little awkward with Selena lately, because Selena is as supportive as she knows how to be, but she's also on top of the world right now, and isn't sure quite how to empathize. It just makes Miley's fierce loyalty all the more important.

The door guy is a friend of Miley's dad, which is the only reason they're at this show in particular, because he'll check their IDs, and he'll X their palms to show they're underage, but he won't make any kind of big deal about their real names on those IDs, so they keep their heads down and their hats on, and no one says a word to them for most of the night — it's not like this club or this band's following has much of an overlap with their fans, anyway.

Miley whoops when the faster songs come on, as if she knows them, though Demi knows for a fact that she's never heard the band before, and shakes her hips to the beat of the drums. A few months back, Demi would have been dancing along with her, but then, a few months back, there would have been a fifty-fifty chance that Demi was trying to convince herself that she was as happy as she felt she should be, or, near the end, trying to convince Miley that she was okay. She's feeling more subdued now. She sways along near Miley and stares back at the stage, past the lead singer in the front to the girl behind the drums who can't be too much older than Demi is, she's fairly sure, but looks so much wiser and more in control of herself than Demi is even trying for anymore.

(Tennessee is definitely a few years older, but Demi doesn't find that out till much later, till she's already nearly forgotten thinking she was Demi's own age. Everything is different that night, though, bright with the newness and possibility of meeting someone you don't know at all, yet. That night is years away from Tennessee getting cookie crumbs through Demi's sheets, she's allowed the delusion that Tennessee is wise and mature.)

After the show, Tennessee is behind the table selling merchandise, and Demi decides she wants a CD. She knows they should get going — Miley is dancing with the bouncer by the door, holding hands and waltzing back and forth like a child dancing with an adult, and Demi knows she is seconds away from tossing off her baseball cap and doing something inadvisable, like trying to convince the bartender to set the stage up for an open mic.

That's fine, though — this is Miley's adventure as much as it is Demi's, she can get into as much trouble as she likes. For her part, Demi is going to wait in line to buy an album. She's two people away from the front of the line when the drummer girl calls out from behind the desk, asking one of the techs to grab her a beer, unexpected accent ringing out through the dark, low-ceilinged room.

It's strange, but that is the thing that flusters Demi, that clear English voice, and when she reaches the front and asks for a copy of the album, she stumbles over her words. Pull yourself together, she tries not to scold herself in her head. She's trying to be more positive these days, trying to not mind that she's human, that she sometimes messes up. Still, old habits die hard, and the things she's telling herself aren't wrong, which doesn't make them easy to shake off. You get interviewed all the time, talking to people is part of your job but still she hears herself blurting, "You guys were all so great, I didn't — I didn't want to walk out without a reminder. Especially you, you really held the whole thing together."

Tennessee laughs, which Demi should be expecting, and then says, "I'm sorry to disappoint," which Demi would never have thought to expect. "I didn't play for them on the album, though. I'm just helping out on the road."

Demi's blushing, she knows she is, because she knew that, she's pretty sure they must have said it on-stage, and she's in the industry, she knows how these things work. She looks down to dig through her wallet so she can pay, tries to wait out the warmth in her cheeks before giving up and looking up. Tennessee is still smiling at her, though, hands her the album, takes her money and kisses her cheek when she hands Demi back her change, whispering, "Thank you, I needed to hear that tonight."

Demi's face is never going to go back to its normal color, she is going to flame pink and crimson through her cheeks forever, she is doomed, she is never going to be able to pull off shading her hair blond at this rate. She sneaks another quick look at Tennessee, who is still smiling at her, sipping at her beer, setting it back, still smiling, foam forming tiny, shining bubbles on her upper lip. Demi is not sure she could ever have been prepared for this, even if she'd been bracing herself, so at least there's that. She stumbles back away from the merch table, head swinging around to try to find Miley.

-

Ryan kisses her cheek when she gets there, because apparently in the time since Tenn has hung out with him, he's decided he's French or something. It's odd, but kind of sweet, she guesses, especially when he smiles at her, says, "I'm glad you came."

Then he latches onto Zooey, though, which is less charming. Sure, when Tennessee called her to ask if she'd come along, it had turned out that she was already invited, but still. She was supposed to be Tennessee's buffer, and now she's being spirited off to back Ryan up on some debate he's having with Dan, and Tennessee is left standing in the doorway with Z.

Which is fine — she did come to spend time with Z, after all. Still, she's kind of hoped she could knock back a couple of drinks before they got down to the one-on-one thing.

-

Demi is feeling a bit of a let-down at the end of the X Factor season, and Bill is in L.A. for a night or two. These two things combine in such a way that when he asks if she wants to come along with him to a party this friend of his is having, because otherwise he's not sure he'll get the chance to see her before he flies back to Chicago, she agrees. She feels like she's got something twitchy and alive moving under her skin somewhere, slithering between her bones and making her twitch with  
misplaced adrenaline, and spending an evening with a room full of strangers and one mostly-a-friend seems like the thing to do.

He's William Beckett, and he's taking her to a party thrown by one of his friends, and there's a part of her that still thrills at that, but he's also William Beckett, who asked if she could send some Camp Rock merch out for his daughter, so she's not surprised when he gets a little hesitant after that, saying, "They're kind of out-there, this group," and "just stay out of dark alleyways, and you'll be fine," and "You're twenty-one already, right?"

Demi isn't quite, and she tells him so, but she laughs and says, "I've been going to industry parties since I hit puberty, I can handle myself."

-

Tennessee is standing alone by the punchbowl, and the fact that there actually is a punchbowl is kind of poetic, maybe, but the act of standing there, empty red solo cup in hand, is proving less so in reality. Zooey has been engulfed by the crowd, though, Tennessee's pretty sure that she's not coming back, and Z has gone to check on the menagerie, because in addition to becoming French, Ryan also seems to have become a crazy cat lady when Tennessee wasn't looking.

This isn't the end of the world, of course — Tennessee knows other people, knows how to talk to other people, probably already knows some of the other people in this room, even. She's sulking a little, though, and she isn't feeling like very good company. The punchbowl isn't a great place to sulk near, since it's a pretty high-traffic area, but it does give her a convenient excuse for why she's standing there, so there's that. Maybe she just really likes punch. It's not like anyone here can refute that.

It does mean she should actually be able to think of an answer when someone asks what's in it, though. The girl is standing there, dark, dark eyes, and not too many people can rock dark roots like that, but she's pulling it off like a champion, and she looks familiar enough that Tennessee doesn't feel like offending her, in case they know each other, so she smiles as bright as she can manage, reaches for the honest-to-god ladle in the punch bowl, and pours some into the empty cup she's been staring into the depths of with a hopefully-friendly-sounding, "Let's see, why don't we?"

-

Demi doesn't have a sexual identity crisis on the way home from the show. Miley will say she does, later, she'll say it again and again, and with a certain amount of glee, but she exaggerates like it's her job, and she always has. What Demi has, on that ride home, are bright red cheeks and Tennessee Thomas's name scrawled in tiny letters and smudging ink, crawling up her wrist to the base of her thumb, so she doesn't forget.

"So I saw you talking to your girl-crush," Miley says, glancing away from the road to smirk at Demi.

"She's not — and anyway, how would you know?"

"That you were talking to her? Or that you luuurve her?" Miley can be a bit much, sometimes, but Demi loves her to death, so she doesn't let herself fall for the easy annoyance-bait Miley is dangling. "Because I saw you guys talking, babe, you were in public, you know that, right?"

Demi thinks it's probably the product of having so many siblings, this tendency of Miley's to needle people till she gets a rise out of them when she's got enough adrenaline going. Miley goes on, "And I know she's your new some-day-my-prince-will-come because you kissed a girl and you liked it, girl, I can tell!"

"She kissed me," Demi points out.

"Same diff," Miley answers, totally unconcerned. "There was kissing involved and you're still blushing."

"Yeah, I guess, maybe," Demi admits, and it's no more than what she's been thinking all night, no more than she's had running in the back of her mind like a hint, or a question, for years now. There has just been so much more going wrong, up to now, for it to really be a priority to think through. Right now, just saying what she's already said feels like a huge admission.

Miley seems to get that, though, because she really is an awesome friend, provokingness aside. Now, she takes one hand off the wheel to reach over and squeeze Demi's knee for just a second, her driving version of a hug, and says, "My hero."

-

The punch is terrible. Tennessee chokes a little, but swallows it down, tells her new companion, "Grapefruit juice, Sprite, and maybe windshield-wiper fluid? Or something less blue, but with a similar flavor — I guess it would be a bit more lavender if there were blue and pink mixed up in there."

Luckily, the girl laughs, asks, "So you don't recommend it, then?"

Tennessee shakes her head, takes another sip anyway, makes a face and shakes her head again and says, "Hey, why don't we check out the kitchen, see what else we can find."

"Sure," Tennessee's new friend says, and it's really lovely how she doesn't even notice that Tennessee is basically enlisting her to hide out. "You know the way?" At Tennessee's nod, she grins, and she's got dimples, she is truly adorable. "My hero." Tennessee should probably find out her name.

"I'm Tenn, by the way," she says, spinning on her heel to shake hands, walking backward towards the hall. Anyone behind her can get out of the way. Tennessee is in no mood to be polite. To anyone except this really familiar-looking stranger who is introducing herself as, "Demi, I came with Bill."

That's not terribly encouraging, but since she's pretty sure Bill is that tall friend of Ryan's who was talking about his kid earlier, it's possible that it's not discouraging, either. She says, "You look really familiar, where have I seen you?"

"We actually," Demi says, and she sounds a little uncertain, "You probably don't remember — " But Tennessee does remember, she knows, she has it.

"You're on the program that judges the singers! The one with the shouting!" Tennessee doesn't watch it very often, but Alexa's pretty fond of it, so she's seen a few, even of the American version, which this girl is definitely on.

"That's me," Demi says, and she smiles again, but this time the dimples are gone. Tennessee wants them back.

She says, "You're brilliant on it. Very judge-ey. In a good way!" She trips a little bit turning backwards into the kitchen, but that's okay, because Demi is smiling for real again, laughing a little, but not in a spiteful way. Tennessee is pleased. She tells Demi, "Now I haven't been here in a little while, but if I'm remembering correctly — " she taps the side of her nose like her grandfather used to, when she was young and he'd slip her a sweet before dinner. Then she leans down to the cabinet under the sink and rummages under it before emerging victorious, a six pack of Mike's Hard Pink Lemonade in her hand. She puts a finger to her lips and hisses, "Ryan's secret shame."

Demi giggles a little, incredulous, asks, "Why?" like she's not quite sure she should be taking Tennessee seriously but isn't sure how else to react, either.

"Not locally brewed, not a microbrewery in sight, right?" Tennessee asks. She's not entirely sure that's why the drinks are actually hidden, has a vague idea that it might just be because they'd be gone in a flash with this crowd — pink drinks always are — but that doesn't suit Tennessee's mood. She isn't sure how Demi should be reacting to her right now, really — she has no clear idea why she's got this reckless, giddy feeling erupting out of her, only that she does, and that, for now at least, Demi seems to be along for the ride. She asks her, "Want to go see if the balcony is occupied? Usually there'd be someone out there by now, engineering a moment or something, but it might be chilly enough out to have scared them off, tonight."

Demi hesitates for a second, long enough for Tennessee to remember that it's entirely possible that she's at this party because she wanted to be, and might want to stick around. Instead, she says, "Yeah, just let me grab my sweater," and darts back down the hall.

-

Demi's embarrassed to admit it, but she recognizes Tennessee right away. She doesn't do anything about it for a bit, just watches out of the corner of her eye and fidgets with the hem of her shirt, but it doesn't take her too long to excuse herself from her increasingly distracted conversation with Bill and make her way over to the punch bowl, only the vaguest idea of what she'll do when she gets there.

She asks a question about the punch, because it is there, and all of her imagination has deserted her, in this situation which feels too coincidental for her even to have daydreamed about it, and before she knows it, she's following this person she doesn't really know at all down the hallway. She really doesn't know Tennessee one bit, no matter what that one part of her mind insists, one meeting a year and a half ago that Tennessee doesn't even seem to remember doesn't count, it doesn't. Demi may still play the CD she bought that night in her car, but it's a good album, okay? It would be a good album even if it didn't make her feel phantom lips on her cheek sometimes, dry and warm.

So she follows Tennessee to the kitchen, and she stands there, and she smiles, and she thinks she must look a little dazed because, well, she feels a little dazed. She makes an excuse about finding her sweater and she runs.

Bill has her sweater, because Bill has this thing where sometimes he acts like Demi is his six year old daughter. Bill has her sweater over his arm and is talking to the guy, Ryan, whose party this is. He's also holding Ryan's cat, who is lying on top of Demi's sweater. She comes up to them and then stops, and she feels like she's about eight, waiting for the grown-ups to stop talking. It doesn't help that Bill is about a million feet tall.

He's talking to Ryan about setting up a solo tour, which adds to the image, because he's trying to be all mentor-ey or fatherly or something — he's got a hand on Ryan's shoulder, and a tipsy-pink face, and he's spewing such gems of wisdom as "And if you get lonely, don't be afraid to call people, man, because it's different from touring with a band. It's still good, you know, but — "

Ryan looks over at Demi, then back at Bill, then over to Demi again, which is what it takes for Bill to notice her. He looks over at her. She waves a little. "Hey, sorry, don't let me interrupt, I just wanted to grab my sweater."

"Are you leaving? But we barely caught up — hey, I'm sorry I've been stuck talking to this guy," jerking his thumb at Ryan.

Demi laughs, can't help it, asks him, "Are you holding my sweater hostage?"

"No, of course not," Bill lies, holding her sweater tighter with both hands.

"I'm not leaving I'm — " she glances over at Ryan, a little uncertain. It's not a big deal, but it feels like it is, and Bill is a friend, but she doesn't know Ryan at all, really. "I'm going — someone asked me if I wanted to go check out the deck, get a little air."

"Oh yeah?" Ryan says. "It's a good spot. Maybe a little damp right now."

Demi smiles and nods and reaches out for her sweater, but Bill holds it up unnecessarily high above her head, asks her, "Did you make a new friend, Disney?"

Demi thinks she did.

-

In Tennessee's experience, when you ask people to come outside and stargaze with you (well, maybe she didn't say it, but the stargazing was totally implied, Tennessee is sure. Even if she did only think of it once Demi ran out of the room), and then they run from the room, chances are that they're not coming back.

Demi did say she was only going to get her jacket, though, and she's got an honest face, and Tennessee wants to go out and mingle exactly the same amount of not at all that she wanted to do so a few minutes before, when she was still ostensibly trying, so she takes a quick look at the floor for potential-stain-creating things, and then sits down there with her legs crossed at the ankle and her back against the cabinet.

After a minute or two, she cracks one of the bottles of lemonade open. If you're going to descend into clichŽs of all-alone-ness, it's best to go all the way. Though she's not sure it counts as drinking alone if all she's drinking is pink lemonade, even if it is hard lemonade. It had seemed appropriate when Demi was still here, she definitely has that kind of fresh-faced, slightly artificial but also totally genuine prettiness-thing going on that seems very pink lemonade--American as apple pie, but definitely infused with artificial coloring to get it there. Wholesome. It's much less serendipitous when it's just Tennessee alone on Ryan's kitchen floor. The pink totally clashes with her lipstick.

"Okay, ready!" Demi says from around the corner before she's even made it back into the kitchen, and Tennessee is so glad she waited. She's less glad she sat down on the floor, though — she's sure to look ungainly standing up, and what she really wants is to already know Demi well enough to feel comfortable holding her hand out for Demi to pull her up, but there's no way to engineer that to have already happened, so Tennessee reaches up to put the lemonade bottle on the counter above her head and holds onto the counter to scramble upright.

"Alright!" she exclaims, trying to recapture her earlier excitement about this adventure. "Onward!" She grabs hold of Demi's sleeve--and she can't help but notice that her sweater, like the tips of her hair, is almost the same shade of pink as the lemonade--towing her through the kitchen and over to the glass doors, saying, "Come on, stargazing!"

Demi laughs, too low to really be called a giggle, but still the same bright, non-threatening kind of sound. Tennessee smiles back and opens the door.

-

There have been girls, here and there, over the past year and a bit. Not too many; Demi was serious about taking a bit of time away from relationships, but enough to know that it wasn't just one giddy night with one giddy crush.

Niall sets her up, sometimes, because he is a sweetheart, and has probably done more than anyone else to reassure her that it's okay not to come out quite yet, that she's not letting her fans down and she's not being dishonest, she's just letting herself have a private life for a little while.

Steph was the closest to a relationship, but she hadn't really wanted to have a long-distance, secret relationship, and honestly, Demi can't blame her for that.

-

Tennessee doesn't actually seem to know any constellations, so 'stargazing' for her basically seems to mean sitting down on the plastic chairs and looking vaguely upward towards the cloudy sky. She reaches into the carton of hard lemonade for a bottle, uses the hem of her skirt as padding around her hand to twist off the top, and offers it to Demi.

Demi doesn't really drink except with Niall or Miley, and even then, only in private and not very much, but she doesn't quite feel like explaining to this to Tennessee. The last thing she wants is to admit that she's not quite twenty one and have Tennessee exclaim, "You're still a baby!" like Britney had after they'd first met on the X-Factor set and Britney had asked if she wanted to go out for drinks after and chat. She doesn't want to stop Tennessee from looking at her like she is right now, speculatively, out of the corner of her eye.

Suddenly bold, she tells Tennessee, "We met once, you know. At a show a while back. You were playing drums for Jenny and Johnny."

Tennessee squints at her in the dark, and Demi ducks her head, embarrassed, and takes a sip of the lemonade. It's not bad. Very smooth.

"Oh!" Tennessee exclaims after a moment, pointing her finger at Demi. "My biggest fan!"

Tennessee's finger is very close to Demi's face. Demi's face is flushing bright. Just like that first night, actually, now that she thinks of it. Tennessee notices, says, "No, it's great, you're great, you were so great that night."

Demi is pretty sure she said much the same thing to Tennessee, then. She thinks about saying something, then thinks better of it and takes another drink. Tennessee goes on. "You were enthusiastic and sweet and lovely and I was not having a good night that night."

Demi isn't sure she can picture that. Tennessee is all energy and exclamation points. Demi is pretty sure that was even the first thing she'd liked about her, back then. She tells her, "You didn't act like it."

Tennessee smiles at that. "Yes, well, you seem far too straightforward to take refuge in faking it too often."

Demi nods. "I try not to, these days."

"So wise," Tennessee says, and she sounds a little mocking but also kind of friendly, so Demi doesn't mind, just says, airily, "I try."

-

Tennessee has no idea what to do with this girl who looks like an illustration of a character on a Candyland box, who is sweet as sugar and who keeps blushing. She remembers the time they met almost as soon as Demi says it — she'd had darker hair, then, but the same bright, brittle smile, the same blush. Tennessee hadn't been able to resist kissing her cheek. Jen had teased her about it for days after. Tennessee is probably lucky Demi didn't sue her, that was probably some kind of sexual harassment.

Demi hadn't seemed to mind then, though, and and she's still sitting here now, too, legs crossed and hands wrapped around the lemonade she keeps knocking back like it's got an actual, significant alcohol content. She's as different from Z as is humanly possible, and the thought sets off a pang buried deep below Tennessee's ribs, but not in a bad way. She realizes that it's the first comparison she's made between the two all night, but it's definitely not the first casually interested thought she's had in Demi's direction.

She thinks about telling Demi she's kind of hiding out from her ex, because her ex is also her ex-best-friend, and they're trying to ex out one of those exes, but she's not in the mood for tongue twisters tonight, and she's really not in the mood to be that sad girl who is still moping. Sure, Z's been doing the same thing, but she at least got half her new band's album out of it. All holding onto the feeling has gotten Tennessee is a little improvement in her pretending-to-be-fine-in-photographs skills and a whole new wardrobe. Her closet is full, though, and she's not sure she really wants to pursue the modeling thing too much further. She's gotten all she can out of it. She tells Demi, "Good, that's a good way to be," and then, when Demi's blush doesn't subside, "Is this getting you drunk?"

Demi laughs again, that same not-quite-a-giggle, and says, "Is it better or worse to tell you I was just that embarrassed?"

"Definitely worse," Tennessee nods. "I didn't mean to embarrass you."

"Niall says I'm a lightweight," Demi says, and she sounds reflective, "But this may actually be a record."

Tennessee laughs at that, can't help it, and almost missed Demi adding, "To be fair, I did have a glass of the punch before this."

That can't be right, though. "You asked me about the punch, you can't have." She looks over to Demi, who is smirking. Demi says, "You looked so lost, I thought I'd rescue you."

That's something new, that attitude. Tennessee likes it.

-

Tennessee clearly doesn't know much of anything about the X-Factor, but she starts asking questions anyway. She's especially taken with the fact that Demi works with Britney Spears, but that's the thing most people seem to get stuck on, these days, so it's not totally surprising.

"Charlotte and I were pretty hard on her, when we were young," Tennessee tells her, and she sounds kind of wistful. "I had kind of a soft spot for "Stronger," and I know she had a mix tape with "Lucky" on it for when she was feeling sad, so it was a pretty hypocritical dislike all around, when you think about it."

Demi thinks that if she had been playing music when Tennessee was younger, she probably would have been on the very guilty pleasures list, too. For once, the thought doesn't bother her. "Charlotte?" she asks.

Tennessee waves her hand like she's waving away the question. "My best friend growing up."

"I've got one of those," Demi tells her. Selena is shooting for her latest Wizards of Waverly Place thing, and Demi hasn't talked to her in a week or so. She should call her.

"Don't be in a band with her," Tennessee says, grand and sweeping and definite. "Or date her. Unless that's your destiny, or something. But really don't be in a band with her."

"No danger of that," Demi says, trying to keep it light. "We both sing, and neither of us likes to take the back seat."

"Good," Tennessee tells her, emphatic.

-

Tennessee does not actually know William Beckett. This means she doesn't get to hate him — she has a deal with herself that she is only allowed to hate people she knows well enough to be sure they deserve it. Still, when he comes out onto the back deck looking for Demi, she comes pretty close.

She can hardly blame him, though when he comes out calling, "Dems! I've been looking for you, I've got to get going, early flight tomorrow," and, "I didn't want to miss saying goodbye." Tennessee wouldn't want to miss out on saying goodbye to Demi, either.

Demi stands up, then, though, asking, "What time is it?" When Bill tells her it's nearly three, she says, "Hang on, I'll walk you out, I've got a meeting first thing tomorrow."

That's — Tennessee feels like that's a little cold, she almost feels abandoned, but then Demi turns to her. "I had a really nice time talking to you, do you think you'd want to maybe hang out sometime?" She sounds like she'd put that sentence together in her head, and has been going over and over again while Tennessee was blathering on about Britney Spears, and that's adorable, it makes Tennessee's heart go all melty, it makes her want to kiss her, but instead she just pulls out her phone and says, "Yeah, could I get your number?"

-

Demi walks out of the house that night arm in arm with Bill, the slightest bit tipsy and one phone number richer, but decidedly unkissed. She guesses it's probably her own fault, but she was telling the truth, she does have a meeting first thing tomorrow, and Sheila hates it when she shows up yawning, says it always sets her off, too. Plus, if she didn't head out now, when she had an excuse, she could see exactly how tonight could play out.

If she'd stayed, she probably would have stuck around exactly as long as Tennessee had, mooning after her until she'd been the one to go, trailing after her like a puppy. There's no dignity in that. "Always leave them wanting more," Demi's mom likes to say. Demi thinks that, in this case, she did.

-

Tennessee stays out on the porch for a few minutes more, after Demi leaves. She finishes her lemonade, looks up at the sky, which is getting increasingly cloudy, shivers, and heads in. When she makes it back to the living room, she can see the front door close.

Almost as soon as she's there, Z comes barreling towards her. "Tenn! I thought you might have left, I'm sorry I lost track of you," and she sounds a little wild-voiced.

Tennessee still doesn't like seeing Z upset--she didn't even when she was furious with her, so at this point, she doesn't think she ever will. She lays a hand on Z's arm and tells her, "It's fine," and, "Can you excuse me just one more sec? I'll be right back, I promise." Tennessee has an idea in her head, and it probably won't work out, but she wants to try anyway.

She pushes through the crowd, out the front door, and there across the stretch of damp asphalt, under the streetlight just down the block, fumbling with her car keys, is Demi. Tennessee strides across the street. When Demi gets her door unlocked, Tennessee calls out. Mysterious approaches are all very well, but if Demi drives away while Tennessee is making hers, she'll feel very silly.

Demi turns, and Tennessee suddenly is afraid she looks like, or is acting like, a murderer, a cradle robber, a terrible creep. Demi is so young, but she is smiling at Tennessee, so Tennessee feels pretty alright about closing the distance between them. She looks Demi in the eye and says, "I'm very glad you gave me your number, and I wanted to be clear. Would you like to go out some time?"

Demi grins, broad and bright. "Yes."

"On a date?"

"Yes."

Tennessee thinks she should probably leave it at that — she has been painfully clear, there can be no uncertain intentions. "Good," she says, and turns to go, but Demi reaches out to grab her hand.

"Wait."

"Yeah?" Tennessee is supposed to be the mature one here, she thinks. She's shaking, though, so it's pretty clearly a little late for that. When Demi rocks up on her toes and presses her lips to Tennessee's, Tenn finds herself reaching a tentative hand out to rest on Demi's waist, like they're slow-dancing at Prom. Her other hand is still clasped in Demi's, and that's better, that feels more natural, at least. She squeezes Demi's hand, pulls her in a little closer, and tilts her head to part her lips. Kissing, she can do, she thinks.

She's right, that's what it takes. Demi takes the hand not holding Tenn's and uses it to brace herself on Tennessee's shoulder, pull herself closer, kiss her harder, and Tennessee can feel her lipstick smearing, probably staining Demi's mouth, her teeth, her face, and Tennessee went for a bright, cowgirl kind of red tonight, it's going to look ridiculous, but Tennessee cares so little it's impossible to calculate a quantity that small as Demi's perfect, white, TV-star teeth scrape lightly over Tennessee's bottom lip and she gasps a little.

Demi pulls back after that, and she's still smiling. She says, "Let's go on that date soon," and then slides into the car door which has been standing open.


End file.
